Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Faring Well
“When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza-pie, that’s amore!” Gerard sang in a falsetto operatic voice. He was draining pasta in the sink, steam rising up into his face and pinking his cheeks, Mikey giggling at his brother’s silliness.
“You’re so weird!” The little brother laughed, covering his mouth with his hands when the teenage boy began to dance around the kitchen with the empty spaghetti pot, singing and waltzing from appliance to appliance.
“Mikey,” Gerard said, going back to the sink to rinse of the corkscrew pasta he’d been boiling. The cookbook had said not to rinse it, but it always got clumpy and sticky with starch if you didn’t at least pass some water over it. “Could you go get the frozen veggies I put in the microwave out and pour them into a bowl, please? Be careful; they’re probably hot.”
“Yuck!” Mikey said, holding the steaming bag between his thumb and forefinger as though it were filled with toxic waste. “I hate vegetables! Why didn’t you make meatballs? Mommy always made meatballs with pasta.”
Gerard felt a stabbing in his gut. Any time Mikey brought up their mother, Gerard felt himself freeze up. He had told Mikey that their mom was sick, and she had gone away to get better, but she would be coming home soon. Sure, it was a lie, but what do you tell a seven-year old when his mother is addicted to God-knows how many drugs, and also happens to be clinically insane to boot? Mikey wouldn’t have understood, Gerard knew, and it was best to avoid putting that kind of thing on his mind by trying to explain it.
“Well, meat’s expensive, Mike,” Gerard murmured, continuing to rinse the corkscrews. “And besides,” he added in a more cheerful tone. “Meatballs is Mom’s thing. When she gets home, she’ll make meatballs, and it will be twice as awesome because you haven’t had them. For now, we have pasta primavera.” He dumped the pasta back into the pot, then mixed in the vegetables Mikey had taken out of the microwave. Topping it with olive oil, salt, pepper, and a bit of lemon juice, Gerard set his special dish on the table, telling Mikey to get out what he wanted to drink.
“Mikes,” Gerard said, exasperated. “I asked you to set the table, like, an hour ago, and all I see here are cups. We can’t drink our pasta.”
Mikey giggled. “Sorry, Gee. I forgot.” The little boy got plates and forks and put them on the table beside each other, so the two brothers would be eating elbow-to-elbow.
Gerard looked at the drinks that the little boy had gotten out. “Hey, I packed you a soda in your lunchbox today. You’ve had enough soda. Drink milk or water.” Mikey complied, having known that he would get caught, anyway.
When they finally sat down, Gerard rubbed his face and folded his hands. “Go ahead, Mikey,” he muttered into his thumbs. The first night he’d had Mikey, Gerard remembered Mikey scolding him.
“You forgot to pray,” the little boy had said.
“What do you mean?” Gerard had asked, used to his own ways, being on his own for nearly two years prior to gaining responsibility for his little brother.
“Mommy always makes us pray before we eat. She says God likes to know that we’re thinking of him. One time, she said it made her feel like she was on a date with God.” Mikey had then closed his eyes, folded his hands together, and bowed his head. For a full minute, the two brothers sat in silence, the older staring at the younger, until the latter opened his eyes and acted as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
“Do you really do that before every meal?”
“Mhmm…” Mikey had mumbled around a bit of pizza, delivered by Papa John’s.
“Wow,” Gerard had murmured, just loud enough for himself to hear. Somehow, he hadn’t pegged his mother for the religious type. Then again, she was insane, and had grown up Catholic.
“Amen,” Mikey said loudly, bringing Gerard back to the present.
“Nice one, Mikes,” the teenager said, even though he hadn’t been paying attention to what he’d been praying for. Probably something along the lines of Donna Way’s quick recovery from whatever she was sick with, and to keep their father safe, wherever he was.
“Thanks, Gee. This pasta’s really yummy.”
“I told you it would be.”
“Mm…Yummy, yummy, yum!” Mikey was a little too enthusiastic for Gerard’s suspicions not to arise.
“What are you…Hey, did you clean your room when we got home?” The seven-year-old smirked devilishly at the older boy, snickering into his milk.
“You little snot, I told you to do that this morning. When we’re done with dinner, please go up and clean it. I don’t want to have to go to the emergency room tomorrow morning to have a lego surgically removed from my foot.” Mikey nodded, continuing to eat, but Gerard knew that he’d have to remind the boy again before he went upstairs. Gerard had noticed that his little brother was always so “conveniently” forgetful when it came to things he didn’t want to do.
Suddenly, Avenged Sevenfold’s “Nightmare” broke the silence of their dining experience. Gerard quickly answered the phone before it got to the “fucking” part.
“Hello?”
“No talking on the phone at dinner!” Mikey yelled as Gerard got up and walked out of the kitchen. He waved a hand at the little boy to silence him.
“Gerard?” It was Harper.
“Yeah?”
“Ray wanted me to call you to remind you about the party on Saturday.”
“Tell Ray I’m not interested.”
“Gerard--”
“Harper.”
“Gerard.”
“Harper.”
“Gerard, I’m serious! Just for one night, can’t you have a little fun? You barely set foot outside of your house unless you’re going to school or doing something for Mikey. You’re probably looking in on him, wherever he is, right now.” She was right; Gerard was leaning back and glancing into the kitchen to make sure that Mikey wasn’t trying to sneak some soda. “Stop it.” Gerard sighed. “Haven’t you thought about a little you-time?”
“I…I don’t think I need any me-time right now, Harper. I mean, Mikey’s still getting used to--”
“That’s bull shit and you know it, Gerard. It’s been almost a year. Little kids are good with change; he’s adjusted. You’re the one that thinks you must be doing something wrong if you let Mikey out of your sight for one minute. Have you ever seen a truly good parent that does nothing but worry about their kid 24/7?”
Gerard sighed and ran his hand through his shaggy hair, which he hadn’t gotten cut in a while due to lack of time and money. “I guess not,” he finally admitted.
“Exactly. Listen, just call up one of his little friends’ parents, say you’re working on Saturday night, or something, and you need Mikey on a play-date for a while.”
Gerard sighed again, looking back in at Mikey, who was now eating pasta off of Gerard’s plate, as he had finished his own. Little boys ate so much, Gerard thought to himself. “Okay,” he said. “But I’m leaving that party at nine. Mikey doesn’t like spending the night at other peoples’ houses.”
“Yes!” Gerard heard from the other line, but it wasn’t Harper’s voice. He then heard Harper hurriedly shushing it.
“Hey, is that Ray?” Gerard asked suspiciously. “You guys double-teamed me without my even knowing it? God, I must be worse than I realize.”
“You are, and even worse than that,” Ray assured, having wrested the phone from Harper’s grip.
“Thanks, buddy. I needed that reassurance.” Gerard almost smiled, shook his head, and hung up. He turned back toward the kitchen. “Mikey, you’d better not be eating my pasta.” The quick clang of fork on plate, and the sight of Mikey hurriedly pushing his chair away from the table told Gerard otherwise. “Now, go clean your room.”
O hai der. Readers, readers, readers...Frank will show up in good time. Would you really want to read a rushed story, where all the action happens in one chapter, and there's no building of emotion or ANYTHING? I didn't think so. In that case, we must wait patiently for our boy to get in here when he's good and ready.
In other news, I'm sorry this took kind of long to write. Or did it? I have three active stories, I don't remember when I update which ones when, so, as a safety precaution, I apologize for long periods of no chapters after every chapter. I'm so polite.
In exchange for my politeness, go comment, rate, and subscribe, if you haven't, and I'll see you all in about a week. OverAndOutxx
“You’re so weird!” The little brother laughed, covering his mouth with his hands when the teenage boy began to dance around the kitchen with the empty spaghetti pot, singing and waltzing from appliance to appliance.
“Mikey,” Gerard said, going back to the sink to rinse of the corkscrew pasta he’d been boiling. The cookbook had said not to rinse it, but it always got clumpy and sticky with starch if you didn’t at least pass some water over it. “Could you go get the frozen veggies I put in the microwave out and pour them into a bowl, please? Be careful; they’re probably hot.”
“Yuck!” Mikey said, holding the steaming bag between his thumb and forefinger as though it were filled with toxic waste. “I hate vegetables! Why didn’t you make meatballs? Mommy always made meatballs with pasta.”
Gerard felt a stabbing in his gut. Any time Mikey brought up their mother, Gerard felt himself freeze up. He had told Mikey that their mom was sick, and she had gone away to get better, but she would be coming home soon. Sure, it was a lie, but what do you tell a seven-year old when his mother is addicted to God-knows how many drugs, and also happens to be clinically insane to boot? Mikey wouldn’t have understood, Gerard knew, and it was best to avoid putting that kind of thing on his mind by trying to explain it.
“Well, meat’s expensive, Mike,” Gerard murmured, continuing to rinse the corkscrews. “And besides,” he added in a more cheerful tone. “Meatballs is Mom’s thing. When she gets home, she’ll make meatballs, and it will be twice as awesome because you haven’t had them. For now, we have pasta primavera.” He dumped the pasta back into the pot, then mixed in the vegetables Mikey had taken out of the microwave. Topping it with olive oil, salt, pepper, and a bit of lemon juice, Gerard set his special dish on the table, telling Mikey to get out what he wanted to drink.
“Mikes,” Gerard said, exasperated. “I asked you to set the table, like, an hour ago, and all I see here are cups. We can’t drink our pasta.”
Mikey giggled. “Sorry, Gee. I forgot.” The little boy got plates and forks and put them on the table beside each other, so the two brothers would be eating elbow-to-elbow.
Gerard looked at the drinks that the little boy had gotten out. “Hey, I packed you a soda in your lunchbox today. You’ve had enough soda. Drink milk or water.” Mikey complied, having known that he would get caught, anyway.
When they finally sat down, Gerard rubbed his face and folded his hands. “Go ahead, Mikey,” he muttered into his thumbs. The first night he’d had Mikey, Gerard remembered Mikey scolding him.
“You forgot to pray,” the little boy had said.
“What do you mean?” Gerard had asked, used to his own ways, being on his own for nearly two years prior to gaining responsibility for his little brother.
“Mommy always makes us pray before we eat. She says God likes to know that we’re thinking of him. One time, she said it made her feel like she was on a date with God.” Mikey had then closed his eyes, folded his hands together, and bowed his head. For a full minute, the two brothers sat in silence, the older staring at the younger, until the latter opened his eyes and acted as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
“Do you really do that before every meal?”
“Mhmm…” Mikey had mumbled around a bit of pizza, delivered by Papa John’s.
“Wow,” Gerard had murmured, just loud enough for himself to hear. Somehow, he hadn’t pegged his mother for the religious type. Then again, she was insane, and had grown up Catholic.
“Amen,” Mikey said loudly, bringing Gerard back to the present.
“Nice one, Mikes,” the teenager said, even though he hadn’t been paying attention to what he’d been praying for. Probably something along the lines of Donna Way’s quick recovery from whatever she was sick with, and to keep their father safe, wherever he was.
“Thanks, Gee. This pasta’s really yummy.”
“I told you it would be.”
“Mm…Yummy, yummy, yum!” Mikey was a little too enthusiastic for Gerard’s suspicions not to arise.
“What are you…Hey, did you clean your room when we got home?” The seven-year-old smirked devilishly at the older boy, snickering into his milk.
“You little snot, I told you to do that this morning. When we’re done with dinner, please go up and clean it. I don’t want to have to go to the emergency room tomorrow morning to have a lego surgically removed from my foot.” Mikey nodded, continuing to eat, but Gerard knew that he’d have to remind the boy again before he went upstairs. Gerard had noticed that his little brother was always so “conveniently” forgetful when it came to things he didn’t want to do.
Suddenly, Avenged Sevenfold’s “Nightmare” broke the silence of their dining experience. Gerard quickly answered the phone before it got to the “fucking” part.
“Hello?”
“No talking on the phone at dinner!” Mikey yelled as Gerard got up and walked out of the kitchen. He waved a hand at the little boy to silence him.
“Gerard?” It was Harper.
“Yeah?”
“Ray wanted me to call you to remind you about the party on Saturday.”
“Tell Ray I’m not interested.”
“Gerard--”
“Harper.”
“Gerard.”
“Harper.”
“Gerard, I’m serious! Just for one night, can’t you have a little fun? You barely set foot outside of your house unless you’re going to school or doing something for Mikey. You’re probably looking in on him, wherever he is, right now.” She was right; Gerard was leaning back and glancing into the kitchen to make sure that Mikey wasn’t trying to sneak some soda. “Stop it.” Gerard sighed. “Haven’t you thought about a little you-time?”
“I…I don’t think I need any me-time right now, Harper. I mean, Mikey’s still getting used to--”
“That’s bull shit and you know it, Gerard. It’s been almost a year. Little kids are good with change; he’s adjusted. You’re the one that thinks you must be doing something wrong if you let Mikey out of your sight for one minute. Have you ever seen a truly good parent that does nothing but worry about their kid 24/7?”
Gerard sighed and ran his hand through his shaggy hair, which he hadn’t gotten cut in a while due to lack of time and money. “I guess not,” he finally admitted.
“Exactly. Listen, just call up one of his little friends’ parents, say you’re working on Saturday night, or something, and you need Mikey on a play-date for a while.”
Gerard sighed again, looking back in at Mikey, who was now eating pasta off of Gerard’s plate, as he had finished his own. Little boys ate so much, Gerard thought to himself. “Okay,” he said. “But I’m leaving that party at nine. Mikey doesn’t like spending the night at other peoples’ houses.”
“Yes!” Gerard heard from the other line, but it wasn’t Harper’s voice. He then heard Harper hurriedly shushing it.
“Hey, is that Ray?” Gerard asked suspiciously. “You guys double-teamed me without my even knowing it? God, I must be worse than I realize.”
“You are, and even worse than that,” Ray assured, having wrested the phone from Harper’s grip.
“Thanks, buddy. I needed that reassurance.” Gerard almost smiled, shook his head, and hung up. He turned back toward the kitchen. “Mikey, you’d better not be eating my pasta.” The quick clang of fork on plate, and the sight of Mikey hurriedly pushing his chair away from the table told Gerard otherwise. “Now, go clean your room.”
O hai der. Readers, readers, readers...Frank will show up in good time. Would you really want to read a rushed story, where all the action happens in one chapter, and there's no building of emotion or ANYTHING? I didn't think so. In that case, we must wait patiently for our boy to get in here when he's good and ready.
In other news, I'm sorry this took kind of long to write. Or did it? I have three active stories, I don't remember when I update which ones when, so, as a safety precaution, I apologize for long periods of no chapters after every chapter. I'm so polite.
In exchange for my politeness, go comment, rate, and subscribe, if you haven't, and I'll see you all in about a week. OverAndOutxx
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